


Bloody Fool

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a friend who wanted semi-consensual Sheriarty knifeplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Fool

Moriarty places the tip of blade and rests it against his arm. He hesitates.

“Please,” he begs. The anticipation is killing him.

He smiles wide and makes the first cut across his bicep. Sherlock hisses, but even he's not sure if in pleasure or in pain.

“More.”

He makes three rapid cuts below the first. Sherlock’s blood is beginning to well up and spill over. There will be no way to hide this from the hotel. They'll have to burn the sheets. He whimpers softly, eyes fixed on the ceiling, chest heaving.

Moriarty smiles and smiles. He tries not to laugh from the mirth roiling inside himself. This is fantastic.

“Harder.”

He makes three more deep cuts below the others, going deeper than he should have. All of these cuts go deeper than they should have. Sherlock begins to cry openly as blood drips from his wounds and sweat beads on his chest and forehead.

“Had enough yet, Sherlock?”

He grabs his wrist and locks eyes with him.

“Don't you bloody stop.” 

He lays back against the bed again. “Twist the knife this time. Don't stop even if I beg you to.”

“Who am I to disappoint?”

“Stop talking and twist the knife,” he grits out between clenched teeth, fighting through the pain.

Becoming annoyed at his demands, he stabs into his arm below his shoulder and twists sharply to the right before pulling the blade out. Sherlock sobs wretchedly, body shaking in pain and perhaps fear. Fear of himself and his darker desires. He doesn't know why he wants or needs this. He knows it’s unhealthy.

“Why? Why do you want this? I know you want this to be over. You need a proper doctor. I’m sure John Watson would be more than willing to help you like the lapdog he is.”

He’s talking about the other cuts across his body that weren't directly involved with a case and ones that weren't outwardly apparent, the ones you could see only when he thought you weren't looking. His eyes betrayed so much, no matter how silent he remained. Who else would he have asked to do this to him? He stops.

“You swore to me. If not you, then someone else will. There are plenty of sadistic bastards out there who want nothing more than to slice up a pretty face or an active body. They will do it as deeply and as frequently as I ask. They never make me beg for their help, and they never abandon me like this.”

It hits Jim like a bullet, then, just why he was asked here tonight.

“You bloody fool.”

_The bloody, sentimental fool._

Sherlock shakes with exhaustion but tries to still his trembling. He’s been discovered...

“You _love_ me”


End file.
